


Victory Never Tasted So Sweet

by wordsphoenix



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Banter, Bets & Wagers, Cuddling, Getting Back Together, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Pre-season 14, Simmons having a great haircut, Swearing, grif pov, head over heels and doesn't give a shit Grif, post-season 13, pretty much all banter, saucy Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Grif and Simmons are hanging out on Chorus, saving the world and shit, when Grif has a fantastic idea. Which is followed by another even better idea. Well, technically Simmons took the first idea and ran away with it. But the second one was all Grif. Someone should give him a medal.





	

“I guess I’d be willing to date you again. If you apologized.”

Eh. Grif could do that. For Simmons. “Alright. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick since we started hanging out with the New Republic, and I’m sorry I waited this long to try and make it up to you.”

“Huh. That actually sounded sincere.”

“Of course it was sincere, Simmons. When have I ever been insincere?”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

Grif sighed. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. But if you accumulate anywhere near as much garbage in my room as you did at red base-”

“I won’t!”

“Good.”

“Hey,” Palomo’s voice drifted over to where they were standing a few feet from the weapons table. “Can I get my gun, now?”

“One second, jackass!” Simmons turned to Grif. “Helmet.”

“Seriously? You want to do this in front of the whole base?”

“It’s just a couple lieutenants. I don’t really care.” He took off his helmet, staring at Grif with raised eyebrows.

“But the rumors, Simmons. They’re going to be talking about this for _weeks_.”

“Like I said, I don’t care.” He looked like he meant it.

“It seriously isn’t going to bother you?” Grif wanted to be sure. Yes, Simmons’s voice hadn’t cracked once during the entire conversation, but that didn’t change a lifetime of not liking unsolicited attention.

“If you don’t take off your fucking helmet, you aren’t going to get to kiss me for hours, Grif. Hours.”

After how long they’d been broken up this time? Fuck that.

“Guys!”

“Fuck off, Palomo!” Grif said as he pulled off his helmet.

Simmons grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. It was a fucking good kiss.

“Gross!”

“Homophobia stopped being cool four hundred years ago, shit for brains!” Grif called back.

“I wasn’t talking about that! Captain Tucker’s my CO, for Christ’s sake! I was reacting to you taking off your helmet.”

Grif took a deep breath and toned down his death glare before looking at Simmons. “I’m going to need to take a walk. Or a nap.”

“Donut said he was on his way down, anyway.” Simmons leaned in. For a second Grif thought he might be going to kiss him again- when had Simmons stopped giving _any_ shits?- but instead he whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll give him one of the ones that jams.”

“I know you’re talking about me!”

Grif smiled a little, and then Simmons kissed his check, so he smiled a little more. Palomo’s whining was getting fucking ridiculous, though. Grif put his helmet back on and went off to find a good napping spot.

Hiding place was a better word for it. Him not being able to keep up on missions scared the shit out of Simmons, so Grif had started wandering around more often, hoping it’d at least give him better stamina than he’d had in Blood Gulch. Wash had managed to coerce them into going to training, but Grif didn’t count that as building stamina; he was pretty sure Wash was trying to get back at them for all the bullshit he’d had to deal with since he found them. Which usually ended up in Grif collapsing on the floor long before training was over.

In Blood Gulch, they’d had nothing to do but nap. On Chorus they actually had jobs. Well. Not that Grif did that much work, but he’d learned a long time ago that even a little effort was enough to make Simmons happy. He didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought.

Grif cared about few things. Simmons was one of them. And Kai, and his mom, but he hadn’t seen either of them in a while and last he’d checked they were both fine. Grif also cared about his squad, like, a tiny bit. Not that he would ever admit that.

He realized his walk was taking him dangerously close to medical and veered off to the left before Grey’s hand could appear in her office doorway to drag him in for a psych evaluation. No fucking way was he doing that. He would’ve thought she was joking if he hadn’t seen the aftermath of her interrogation back on that other crashed ship they’d stopped at. Huh. Crashed ships were becoming a thing for the reds and blues. He could learn how to drive one, but that would require work.

That had been a long enough walk. No sense being away from Simmons when Grif didn’t have to ‘give him space’ anymore. That shit Palomo was probably gone, anyway. Best bask in the glory of no longer glaring daggers at his nerd from too many mess hall seats away before the bane of Tucker’s squad came back to complain about the jammed gun.

 

 

 

They were somehow alone with Caboose and Tucker after dinner. Grif suspected he and Tucker would have gotten along better if they didn’t fill mirroring roles on their respective teams. Also Tucker had been stalking around base with a stick up his ass about training and shit, and Grif wasn’t usually in the mood to deal with that. That was why he was on the red team. And why he had been grateful to find out, during his and Simmons’s first real conversation, that Simmons wasn’t so much high strung as a fucking mess. Grif was used to mess. He could work with mess.

They were discussing the day they’d met, oddly at Tucker’s prompting. Simmons went first. “I fell in love with him slowly. At first he was just annoying, but over time he revealed more and more good- or I guess ‘endearing’ is more accurate- qualities and eventually I realized my feelings ran deeper than friendship.”

“I fell in love with you about ten seconds after I saw you.”

His voice cracked three times when he replied, “Grif?”

“After I realized you were the only one holding up the line, I thought, well, at least this dude’s a friend. Then you crouched- for stability- and I realized that you were even more amazing than I’d originally imagined.”

“Because I was still holding up the line or because you were staring at my ass?”

“Definitely both. I thought I’d explained all this to you before?” Grif could have sworn he’d told Simmons this at least fifteen times.

“No. I kind of just assumed it. After the first few times you said it was love at first sight-” yep there it was “-I thought it was a running joke, but you didn’t stop when we actually got together, so I figured you really were the hopeless romantic we all know you are at heart.”

“I think I’m going to throw up inside my helmet,” Tucker said.

Simmons gazed fondly into the distance. “Yeah. I said that while I was crouched.”

"Shit. I just realized something," Tucker said.

"Playing on recreated Rat's Nest is more fun than all the multiplayer Reach maps combined?"

"What? Caboose, no. The reason we spend so much time staring at other soldiers' asses is that there's nothing else you can remotely appreciate in this armor."

"I thought you had a good imagination," Grif said. Yeah, he was sort of just trying to get on Tucker’s nerves, but it was his stupid squad member who’d interrupted him and Simmons getting back together earlier and honestly how many times were they going to do that? Grif had been serious about not wanting to break up again.

"Maybe, but that's not going to stop me from appreciating the view as Wash walks away."

"I guess you have a point there. Wait, what?"

“We’ve been banging since season 11. I thought it was obvious.”

“Oh,” Simmons said. “ _Oh_. You mean all those times you said you had to go help Wash with something…”

“Yep. Us getting away from you after you decided to take a bunk close enough to kiss his ass.”

Simmons was unfazed. Probably because he’d gotten used to Donut’s innuendos over the course of many years and was way more observant than anyone gave him credit for. “What about him punishing you for not doing training?”

“Oh, that? Knowing Grif, you’re probably familiar with this one. He withheld sex. From me,” Tucker added for emphasis.

“Don’t give him ideas!”

“Already done, Simmons.” Grif had intended it as a short-lived just-fucking-with-him thing, but then Simmons made the sound he made when _he_ got an idea, and that was usually bad for Grif. “Shit.”

“I got through most of my adult life without sex before I met you. I bet I can hold out waaaay longer.”

“Oh my god. This is turning into an episode of Seinfeld. I’m leaving.” Tucker walked off. Caboose trailed after him.

Leaving Grif to run damage control in peace. Because he definitely had not intended things to go this far. “You do realize that in the cliché resolution to this situation, we end up breaking at the same time whilst trying to seduce each other and ultimately never reach a conclusion about who won?”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy seeing how long it’ll take you to break.”

Um. That devious edge to Simmons’s voice was. Nice. Also Grif couldn’t refuse a bet and this was a bet if ever he’d heard one. “Fucking… okay, okay, fine. I’m in. What do I get if I win?”

“Uh, you get to come second?”

“No no no I mean what do I _get_? I’m talking prizes. Eternal glory. Eight thousand tickets. _Something_.”

“Would you accept me admitting I was wrong and a promise not to complain about it for at least a week?”

“So, a week of eternal glory, then?”

“Riiight,” Simmons said, no doubt choosing to ignore the conflict between ‘week’ and ‘eternal.’

“I’m in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some very important business to attend to.”

“If _that’s_ how you’re going to try and get through this-”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Simmons! I meant I have to go start the betting pool and put money on myself.”

“We don’t have any money.”

“But we do have bullets.”

“Is this how you’ve been losing the ammo all these years? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

“Another reason I love you. You know when to stop asking questions.”

“If you think that’s a reassuring-”

“Simmons,” he whined.

“Fine.” Grif could hear him rolling his eyes, but it was worth it. “I love you, too.”

Grif did not fuck around when it came to serious things like love and betting half your squad’s ammunition in backroom poker games. “I presume we’re hanging out even though we can’t bang?”

“You presume correctly. I don’t think I can handle spending another night with Lopez and Donut’s shitty translations- not to mention Sarge’s occasional appearances to tell stories he told us multiple times to stave off insanity at Blood Gulch.”

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Can’t imagine how filthy yours has gotten without me nagging you about it.”

Actually, Grif’s room wasn’t that bad, but walking three extra feet required way less effort than explaining to Simmons how he’d cleaned because he missed him and how minimal cleaning was a higher form of laziness as long as the effort saved looking for things cancelled out with the doing of work. “Okay. I’m gonna win the bet.”

“Whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better.” Simmons had to know his weird confrontational mood was hot. He had to. That was probably why he was doing it.

“I’ll be down in a few hours.”

 

 

 

Hanging out with Simmons was fine.

It was even kind of nice. Grif missed having someone to talk to. Donut always read more into his feelings than he liked handling, and shutting off his helmet speaker and talking into the void while wandering the base hadn’t done anything to make him feel better about the lack of Simmons.

Of course, it was sort of shitty that their longest breakup ever was being followed by little to no physical contact. Grif would have taken advantage of Simmons’s uncaring attitude that day in the weapons room if he’d known it was the only kiss he was going to get indefinitely.

“How did we spend years like this?”

“Like what?” Simmons asked innocently even though he totally fucking knew.

And yet. “Years being morons who did not kiss. Or bang. Or anything in between.”

“Eh. Does cuddling count?” They were, in fact, cuddling right then, which had the dual benefit of being the closest they could be without losing the bet and stopping Grif from seeing the infuriating looks on Simmons’s face that usually only made Grif want to kiss him more.

“That was, like, three times.” It was exactly three times, but no one could prove Grif had cared that much _before_ he admitted he was in love with Simmons. “And it was at least a friend thing when you had the nightmare.”

“It definitely wasn’t a friend thing when you called me an asshole.”

“Even if I give you that one, the other time-”

“I think it counts as romantic if it ends with kissing.” Grif could hear the smile in his voice as he said it. He could just lean in (being the big spoon to Simmons’s lithe nerd frame) and kiss his jaw. And then Simons would turn around, and Grif would kiss his face, and whatever happened after that wouldn’t matter because Grif would lose the bet.

He sighed. “It doesn’t count if we stopped dating and turned into friends afterward instead of breaking up.”

“You say that like breaking up is a logical next step after kissing.”

“It was when Sarge gave us physically impossible operations and we got pissed at each other for no reason.”

Simmons laughed quietly. “I wouldn’t really call that a break up.”

“Um, hate to break it to you, babe, but it’s hard to have hate sex with someone if you haven’t really broken up.”

“Are you speaking from experience? Because if you’d dated some of the people I had, you would have a very different opinion of what counted as a break up.”

“Okay. I know exactly the relationships you’re talking about, we’ve exchanged a pretty thorough amount of information spending so many years in that godforsaken canyon, and I wouldn’t call either of those a healthy relationship in the first place. Which brings me to my definition of break up. Which hinges on the relationship being at least somewhat normal to begin with. Which it is not if you’re still pretending to be together when things have clearly gone to shit.”

“You may be right about that, but I don’t think things had clearly gone to shit after the operations. I read that as more of a heated spat.”

“A spat? Oh, Simmons. Sweet, wonderful Simmons.” Grif tightened his arms a little. “I want to kiss you. Right now.”

“Really?’”

“Yes. Because you’re fucking amazing when you wildly understate the seriousness of a situation. It’s really cute and it hits me right in the gooey center. Implying less work has to be done.”

Simmons turned around. Grif made sure his expression was 100% pure fake longing. Well. Maybe not entirely fake. Or fake at all. “You actually mean it.”

And cool now Grif could crack a smile. “I’m not gonna break that easy.”

Simmons rolled back over. “Asshole.”

“Maybe. But I did mean all that stuff. Even if I was using it to mess with you.”

“I know. That makes it worse.”

“Psssssht. Like you don’t do the same thing to me on a regular basis.”

“Use your weaknesses to bend you subtly to my will?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I’m not denying I do that. I’m just saying it’s less of a dick move when you _know_ I’m doing it.”

“Simmons, that is not what you signed up for with this bet. I expect you to be fucking with my head at every turn. At the end of the day, we’re twisting the truth in the name of victory. That’s what gives me the audacity to point out the unhealthiness of your past relationships while still upholding the integrity of my position in the bet.”

“Has anyone ever told you it’s adorable when you overexplain things to get yourself out of trouble?”

“Now you’re getting it, Simmons.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just being honest. Like,” he was stroking Grif’s hand in a way that really shouldn’t be sexy but somehow was when he pitched his voice like that, “sometimes you lose your composure and get all flustered. It’s nice to see you fall apart for a change.”

“Okay. Good effort, Simmons. But I think it’s time to pack it in. We should get some sleep.”

Simmons was stroking his entire arm and still using his sexy voice. “I’m not _that_ tired. And yeah, we know a lot about each other after spending so much time together, but there must be something we have left to talk about, right?”

Jesus. “If I admit this is affecting me will you cut it out and go to sleep?”

“I don’t know…” Simmons reached back to place a hand on his thigh. He must have felt how tense Grif was, though, because he pulled it back. “I guess it’d be no fun to win this early. It’d defeat the purpose of this whole thing.”

Which was to see Grif squirm. Or fall apart, if he hadn’t been exaggerating, and Grif didn’t think he had been. Simmons had a very specific vocal range for lying. And when he said that he hadn’t been in it. “Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t be thanking me if I were you. It’s barely been a week.”

Grif comforted himself (like he had six thousand fucking times over the past seven days) with the fact that at least they weren’t broken up anymore. “Being around you is enough for me.”

Simmons’s breath caught. “You sound serious.”

“That’s because I am.”

They laid in silence for a second before Grif felt Simmons snuggle closer into his chest.

Yeah. He could survive this bet.

Probably.

 

 

 

Grif was doing pretty decently until shit went sideways. Or, until Simmons got the stupid haircut.

“Oh my god.”

“You like it?”

“Simmons you look like a model for Hologram Weekly.”

“You think so?” He cocked his head to the side in the way that highlighted the panes of his face and made Grif _groan_.

“Yes. You’re the hottest nerd on base. Rectangle-glasses prom king.” Grif should probably stop, but he was surprised. Like. More surprised than he’d been on day one when Simmons had taken off his helmet and Grif had actually finished falling in love with him. Okay, no, that was slightly more dramatic, but this was definitely up there.

“Are the additions of personality traits to your compliments qualifiers?”

“Simmons,” Grif said, placing a hand on either side of his face. “You are attractive in a very specific way. A very subtle, smoldering, quiet-insanely-smart-character-archetype way. That is currently driving me insane. I am adding the qualifiers because if I don’t I might lose the bet like. Right now.” Grif dropped his hands to Simmons’s shoulders so he could shake him a little for emphasis.

“Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?” At that point Simmons was fishing for compliments, and Grif figured he had a slight chance of regaining all this lost ground if he gave in, so-

“Simmons. You are the actor they always cast as the token hot scientist who needs to go on the quest with the action heroes so all the people in the audience who see through the fake tans and bulging musclees of the main characters have someone to stare at. You are the person who makes it on the news once and then gets stalked online by a bunch of random strangers because they are convinced that they’re in love with you after seeing your face and finding out there’s a brain behind those glorious cheekbones. You’re the multi-trillion credit CEO of some absurdly advanced tech company whose assistants keep quitting because they can’t form coherent sentences in the presence of your brilliance and aesthetic majesty.”

Simmons was, like, really red at that point, but he’d built up a tolerance to Grif being ridiculous, so he was still able to respond. “I never thought I’d see the day you would use the phrase ‘aesthetic majesty’ in a sentence.”

“You’re beautiful, Simmons.” Yeah. Yeah he meant it. And maybe he’d got his edge back, so what, Simmons’s face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree when he said it and there was no way Grif was going to forget that anytime soon.

“Don’t go thinking this gives you a leg up. I’m still winning.”

Instead of suggesting Simmons alert his mouth of this development so he could stop beaming, Grif said, “Bet notwithstanding, I’m the one who’s winning after that haircut.”

Simmons blinked.

Grif turned and walked away, making a mental note to get Simmons to smile like that again as soon as possible.

 

 

 

“I know I say this a lot when I’m around you, but I think I mean it this time. I’m gonna puke. This is it. I can’t take any more.”

“Just because I don’t stop being a good boyfriend after the first week-” Grif started.

Tucker cut him off with a snort. “Only if you don’t factor in what goes on behind closed doors.”

“I’m saying in terms of comparison. The first week you two were dating, you followed Wash around like a lost puppy. Then you turned on a dime and started being assholes to each other again.”

“Simmons and you are assholes to each other all the time.”

“That’s part of our banter. When you and Wash start yelling it seems like one of you is going to smother the other in his sleep.”

“Maybe if you gave more than half a shit about what went on around here-”

“Spare me the sob story, Tucker. I’ve been doing training every day for weeks, as you well know, because you and Wash tell each other everything, right?”

“Oh, no. I am not getting lectured by the only person from Blood Gulch who’s lazier than me.”

“Lecturing’s too much work,” Grif said. He was staring at Simmons while he dawdled talking to Donut on his way out.

“Ugh. You’re doing it again right now!”

“Doing what?” Grif said. He was still staring at Simmons and he absolutely knew what Tucker meant, but fuck if he was going to contribute any more to this conversation.

“I don’t need to be here anymore. I finished eating five minutes ago. I’m going to leave to go do something productive like clean my armor or have sex with Wash. Enjoy your blue balls, dipshit.”

Grif heaved an enormous sigh in response to the nerve Tucker had to call any part of him blue and got up to leave. Tucker may be a jackass, but he had a point about pining after Simmons not being a good way for Grif to spend his time. Either he was going to actually be around Simmons, suffering for the proximity, or he was going to be coming up with another way to avoid doing more than the bare minimum of work.

He’d be in Simmons’s room later, anyway. Might as well sit around his bunk watching cat videos and not cleaning to pass the time because he only cleaned when it was absolutely necessary and never did it just to see Simmons smile and yeah maybe he was fucking hopeless but Grif had accepted that a long time ago.

Actually. That. Might be the start of a very good idea.

Grif double-timed for probably one of the only times he ever would ever to get back to his room and start working on this brilliant idea that Simmons was going to love and that would get them out of doing work for at least a few days.

 

 

 

"Marry me."

"What?" They were standing in Simmons’s room and Grif had burst in with no prelude and Simmons’s voice had just cracked way more than should really be possible for one syllable.

"Yeah. People go celibate before they get married all the time. This way, we both have legal rights in case one of us dies, and we both lose the bet at the same time. Everybody wins." Grif knew he had that crazed look in his eye, but when had any of his plans not been crazy?

Simmons looked surprised, this time, though. "Back up for a second. Did you actually consider this in logical terms?"

"Of course I did! Simmons, you can't expect me to spend this much time around you without getting at least fractionally smarter."

"I didn't even think you knew what 'fractionally' meant!"

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be in love with me. Now will you please answer? I'm dying over here."

Simmons blinked. "Oh. Yes, of course yes, why would you even- I just can't believe you'd consider the practical ramifications of marriage beyond the resolution of the bet."

"Less talking more kissing."

Simmons was smirking. Bad that was bad. "Is kissing allowed?"

"Kissing's allowed. Mutual agreement. Kissing's fine get over here please Simmons please." Grif raised his arms and flailed them a little.

"I don't know..." Simmons glanced away and bit his lip in mock-doubt.

"I just proposed. You said yes. You are not fucking with me right now."

“Is it really fucking with you if it’s part of the bet?” Oh, god. He was using Grif’s own excuses against him.

“Simmons. I had you back for twelve hours before we stopped physical contact in the name of sport.”

“We still cuddled.”

“Simmons. Twelve hours. After being broken up for more than a month. That’s the longest we’ve ever been broken up ever and it fucking sucked, okay? And I don’t want to do it again!”

“Is that why you proposed to me?”

“I proposed because I love you, and that’s not- hmm. I guess that is kind of why. I never want to break up with you ever again, because it was the worst. And not wanting to be away from you is basically the same as wanting to be with you forever, so I guess that does give me a reason to marry you. Besides, you know, beside all those other reasons.” This was a perfect plan and Simmons had already said yes so why was he so fucking nervous?

“Come here.”

“What?”

“I love you too. Come here.” And just like that the nerves were gone because bet or no bet Simmons was still into him and that was all that mattered.

“This isn’t going to count as me losing, is it?” Yeah, Grif had already taken a step forward, so maybe he wasn’t that concerned about victory anyway.

“Mutual agreement. Kissing’s allowed.”

“Thank god.” The first kiss was like water in the desert. The second one was better than that. By the third one both of them seemed to have remembered they were engaged, and then they just sort of kept kissing until Grif forgot what it felt like to not be kissing Simmons. “Shit,” he said when they finally pulled away.

“Did we just get engaged?”

“I believe we did. Huh.” After a second of confused staring, Grif realized something. “What are we going to do about our names?

“Um, leave them? It’s two thousand-”

“No, I mean… Both our first names suck.”

“Yeah.”

“So even after we get married, you’re still going to call me Grif and I’m still going to call you Simmons.”

“Probably.”

“Your name isn’t _as_ bad…” Grif reasoned.

“I can’t take you seriously when you say it, though. And my whole first name’s still as shitty as yours.”

Grif smirked. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Simmons rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Hold on. You sound like you’ve thought about this.”

“Why wouldn’t I have thought about it? We’ve been dating for years.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just got so used to calling you ‘Simmons’ it never occurred to me you might want to be called something else. Do you?” Grif ignored the jolt of fear at the thought that he’d been bothering the shit out of Simmons in a way other than the way Simmons had been bothering the shit out of him for years.

“No.” Grif breathed a sigh of relief, but Simmons was still talking and now it was his turn to surprise Grif. “Although I wouldn’t mind if we used, like, nicknames or something. Or like pet names.”

“That’d be kind of nice. Darling, asshat, babe… we can use all the good ones.”

“Fuckface is a personal favorite of mine. Not on me, but like, to say.”

“If you’d reserve that one for our heated spats.”

Simmons smirked again. “I could say the same about ‘asshat.’ And, you know, you call me ‘babe’ already.”

Grif shrugged. “I can get creative. It’s a great way to waste time. I can call you my sweet cyborg angel, the most intelligent person on the planet, husband-”

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”

“Yeah but it’s nice to say. I like saying that. Husband. Shut up Simmons it’s not even official yet.” Grif pulled Simmons closer so Simmons wouldn’t see him blush.

Even though he probably knew it was happening anyway. “Pretty sure if we both agree it’s official. That’s how this stupid bet worked. Which reminds me, if we lose at the same time, what’s going to happen to all those betting pools?”

“I don’t know. But we’re getting our squads out of work for at least a couple hours, and they’ll definitely get cake, so I don’t think anyone’s entitled to complain here.”

“How soon do you think we have to requisition a wedding cake?”

“Not sure,” Grif said, loving the swoop he felt in his stomach at the word ‘wedding’ and not even caring, “but I intend to find out.”


End file.
